The Art of Lying and the Pain of Telling the Truth
by Z.R. Bloomfield
Summary: Sort-of sequel to "Miss Lizzie and Mr. Burt". Set in season 1. Quinn Hummel has a lot of secrets and a lot of lies to keep them that way.
1. Chapter 1

**Hi! This is the sequel to my story "Miss Lizzie and Mr. Burt". It's set in season 1, from just before _Preggers_ to _Throwdown_. It doesn't follow the order of events perfectly, but it works for this AU. I think there will be at least one more chapter in this story. **

**Reviews are always nice!**

**xo Bloomfield**

* * *

><p>It wasn't that Kurt hated his sister. Hell, he loved her to bits and pieces. But God, did she know how to piss him off.<p>

"Lucy Quinn, for the last time, stop stealing my hairspray!" He shouted as he stormed into her room and searched her dresser for his missing can of hairspray. It was the fourth time that week that she'd taken it out of his room without permission and if she really needed hairspray that badly, all she had to do was text him and ask when he went shopping.

"You have four cans. What boy needs four cans of hairspray?" She asked from her bathroom, looking at him in the huge mirror as she expertly curled her ponytail. Her Cheerios uniform hugged her in all the right places and Kurt felt just a little bit sick that his sister pranced around their school in that, although she knew that she wasn't the type to do anything during the school day in such a public place like McKinley. After school, though…

He knew that she'd had sex. With who, he wasn't entirely sure because Finn kept moping around at school complaining about how he didn't get any and how she wouldn't even let him touch her boobs (On the brother side of things, he kind of approved of this, but he _so _didn't need to know whether or not Quinn was getting felt up), so it begged the question of who she'd done it with. He was also ninety-nine percent sure that he'd seen pregnancy tests under her sink a couple weeks back.

"I do."

"What for? You don't have that much hair."

"I keep an extra can in case I need to make a blow torch to burn down your room when you irritate me, now give me that and text me when I go shopping so I'll get you one." Quinn rolled her eyes and unclenched her hair from the curling iron as the final perfect curl bounced free in her ponytail.

"You keep a can in your locker, for crying out loud. Your hair doesn't need that much."

"First of all, let's get one thing clear. I keep two in my locker." Quinn scoffed and rolled her eyes again. "And second, I'd like to see how your hair holds up after two slushies in the morning and a third over lunch."

Over the summer after sixth grade, it became clear that Lucy and Kurt weren't happy at their middle school, so Burt had them transferred to the next district over's middle school, with the statement that they would be attending McKinley for high school, which they'd both agreed to reluctantly. It was over that summer that Lucy had her last name changed to Hummel, and she took up sports. By the time September rolled around, she'd lost most of her chubbiness. Her glasses had gotten much less "dorky," and she was actually considered pretty by seventh grade standards. She told everyone to call her Quinn, claiming at dinner after the first day of school that it suited her better than Lucy ever did. She took up dance and gymnastics. Sometime in eighth grade, she started dyeing her hair blonde, with Kurt's help, because she couldn't do it by herself and Kurt somehow knew how to dye hair. When they started high school at McKinley it became clear where they fit in: Quinn was pretty, popular, and a cheerleader. Kurt was an outcast.

"I'm sure they're not that bad," she said, getting her backpack and putting her notebooks in it.

"Have you seen them? They're full of corn syrup, which, by the way, does nothing for your skin, and—Quinny, are you okay?"

"I-I'm fine, why?" She had gone very pale and even a little bit greenish.

"Because you look like you're about to throw up or faint, not sure which," he said. "Sit down, Quinn."

"I'm _fine_, Kurt, just—" but she was cut off as she covered her mouth with her hand and rushed into her bathroom. Kurt leaned against the doorframe of the bathroom, not entirely sure what the proper etiquette was for when your sister was puking her guts out in front of you.

"That doesn't look like fine to me," he said before he could stop himself. She'd collapsed to her knees by now, but she wasn't sick enough to not give him a glare that rivaled his infamous "Bitch, _please_" expression. "Do you want me to tell Dad that you're sick?"

"No!" she shouted, and he raised an eyebrow. "No, I'm fine. Ate something weird last night."

"Well, that's a lie because it was my turn to cook last night and Dad and I aren't sick. So, that leaves me with a few options. Option number one, you're hoarding food up here and you ate something that had gone bad, which I doubt because Coach Sylvester will kick you off the team if you gain more than one pound and I know that for a fact," he ticked it off on his fingers. "Option number two, you've got a stomach bug that you refuse to acknowledge."

"That's only two." He raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"Quinn, do you have anything you want to tell me?" She looked up at him with wide eyes, reminiscent of when she first arrived at the Hummels, when Lizzie was alive; when she was still Lucy Fabray; when she was still scared. "I won't tell Dad if you don't want me to, but I need you to be honest with me." She wiped at her eyes, refusing to cry in front of Kurt.

"I…I made a mistake, Kurt." She stood up and flushed the toilet behind her and leaned against the sink next to him. "I did something bad."

"Quinny, what did you do?" He asked, taking her hand. She squeezed it, like she'd never let go, the way she had when they were little and her future with the Hummels was unpredictable and there was always that nagging feeling that the red van would come up the driveway and take her away at any given moment.

"Kurt, I'm pregnant. Finn's not the father." He turned so he could stare at her full-on. Sure, he'd had his suspicions, but he never thought…

"Quinn, what did you _do_?" He asked softly, pulling her into his arms as she clutched to his shirt like the world would end if she didn't. She took deep, shaky breaths, close to sobbing but not there yet. "Whose is it?"

"Puck's," she breathed, and then she started crying for real, trembling in his arms as she stained his shirt. He didn't really care, though.

"Oh, Quinny," he sighed. "Shh, it's okay, it's gonna be okay," he murmured against her hair, although really he couldn't see how it would be.

"Don't tell Daddy, please," she whispered. She pulled away and caught his gaze, her green eyes tearful and determined. "Kurt, don't tell him."

"He's gonna have to find out eventually."

"I know, I just want…" she trailed off, shaking her head. "I don't know. Don't tell him."

"I won't. I promise."

* * *

><p>"Kurt, what happened to you?" Quinn froze in the hallway and stared at her brother, who was coated in blue slush.<p>

"I believe it was your friend Noah Puckerman and a few other goons," he said, eyes closed, trying to clean off his hand so he could wipe the stuff out of his eyes.

"He's not my friend," she said immediately. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up."

"Don't you have a meeting with Coach Sylvester or something?"

"Not for another hour, and she can wait for me if it's that important," she told him, dragging him into the bathroom. "Doesn't Tina or Mercedes help you with this?"

"Are they around?" Quinn bit her lip and felt guilty for even saying anything about them. "Can you just go get the bag I leave in my locker for times like this? You can go to whatever class you have. I'll be fine."

"I've got a sub in Home Ec. I can help you."

"God forbid it ruins your image."

"Oh, shut up." She dampened a few paper towels and handed them to him. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For leaving you alone in middle school when people decided I was pretty. For not being there for you last year when people were picking on you. For not sticking up for you when Dad grounds you over stuff like tiaras." Kurt blushed under the ice. "I heard about that, you know. He was talking to Aunt Christie about it."

"Quinn, I have to tell you something."

"Don't tell me you're pregnant."

"The lack of a uterus kind of shot that in the face." She smiled for real for the first time in what felt like a long time. "Quinn, I haven't been honest with you or Dad."

"About what?"

"I—Quinn, I'm gay." She stopped and looked at him.

"And I'm blonde. How bad does this stuff stain, anyway? I've got a stain stick in my locker, maybe—"

"Quinn, I said I'm _gay_."

"And I said I'm _blonde_, are we done with the obvious statements?" He stared at her with wide eyes.

"You _knew_?"

"Kurt, have you met yourself? You can list at least as many musicals as Rachel Berry, if not more, you've got more Broadway and Lady Gaga on your iPod than I do songs in general, you wear women's clothing—"

"Fashion has no gender," he interrupted. She raised an eyebrow.

"And you have tiaras stashed under your bed," she dampened more paper towels and handed them to him. "It's not exactly news."

"So you knew? All this time?"

"Since about eighth grade, yeah. I mean, I didn't _know_, know, but I had a lot of ideas about it. It explained the hairspray, and the musicals, and the Gaga, and the tiaras, and—"

"And you don't hate me?"

"Kurt, if anything, I should be more concerned about you hating me."

* * *

><p>Kurt was doing laundry when Quinn got home from Cheerios. She was exhausted and miserable and all she really wanted to do was curl up on the couch with a pint of Ben and Jerry's and watch crappy movies with her brother.<p>

"Hey, lovely, how are you?" He asked as she sat down next to him and leaned against his shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"No. Coach Sylvester yelled at me at practice today because I was shaking."

"I still don't know why you're on the Cheerios. It can't be good for the baby." She shot him a glare, but dropped her head back on his shoulder.

"I just wish I wasn't pregnant!" She said, kicking at her backpack.

"Your backpack didn't do this to you," Kurt said, folding a pair of her pajama pants. "That Cheerios uniform looks uncomfortable."

"You don't even know."

"Then go get changed."

She came back down wearing the pajamas she saved for lazy days: snow days, days on break when Burt _had_ to work with no way of getting out of it and she didn't feel like dealing with her friends' brand of bitch and she'd rather sit at home with Kurt, and the days like this, when she was miserable in every sense of the word and ice cream was the only cure.

"Are you going to tell Daddy?" She asked as Kurt put the laundry basket back in the mudroom and returned to the couch with two pints of Ben and Jerry's and two spoons.

"Are you?"

"That's not fair. I'll be done with this by the summer. You're gay, Kurt. You can't change that." He didn't meet her gaze. "When are you going to tell him?"

"When the time's right."

"When's that gonna be, huh?"

"When I figure it out!"

"You can't keep it from him forever, K."

"Neither can you, Q." Quinn glared at him. "Pregnancy costs money, and that's not something you've got a lot of at the moment. I know how you spent your summer." Quinn had spent her summer hanging out with Santana Lopez and Brittany Pierce and the rest of the Cheerios, performing at any attraction Coach Sylvester could get them. Kurt had spent his summer changing oil and tires and fixing cars alongside Burt at Hummel Tires and Lube.

She scowled at him. "That doesn't change the fact that you're lying to him every time he asks you if you've got a girlfriend."

"I'm not lying, I don't have one." She gave him an exasperated look. "Okay, Quinn, how about this: I'll tell Dad I'm gay when you tell him you're pregnant. Deal?"

The truth was neither one of them wanted to keep their secrets from Burt. Deep down, they knew that he wouldn't hate them, but there was that nasty voice in their heads—the voice of society, if it needed a name—that told them he would throw them out on the streets.

"Deal."

* * *

><p>"Quinn, are you feeling all right? You've hardly eaten." They were out to dinner a week later and Quinn wasn't really eating anything. Morning sickness, as it turned out, had a tendency to spill over into the rest of the day if she wasn't careful, or if she got too stressed.<p>

Which she was. Extremely stressed. Coach Sylvester had _kicked her off the Cheerios_. What was Quinn supposed to do now? She had pretty much lost her social footing and was in a freefall right into glee club alongside her brother, who still hadn't told their father. Of course, she knew how determined he was. If she never told, neither would he. But it was getting harder and harder to hide. The baby bump was making itself more pronounced with every passing week and the Cheerios uniform did nothing to hide it—well, she wouldn't be wearing it anymore, that's for sure.

"Just not hungry, I guess," she said softly, not looking up at Burt. Burt glanced at his son, who was looking at his sister with a calculating expression.

"Is it bad or something?" Kurt asked, skewering some of the pasta on her plate onto his fork and tasting it.

"No, it's fine, I'm not hungry," she said, looking up at him. Kurt glanced at their father, swallowed, and decided to tell him about Quinn's apparent lack of a social status.

"Quinn got kicked off Cheerios." She looked at him, shocked. Burt looked at his daughter, concerned.

"You did?"

"Kurt quit football," she stated instead of answering him. Burt stared at him.

"Why?"

"I decided it wasn't really my thing," Kurt said, his gaze dropping to the plate in front of him.

"But you won the Titans the game!"

"It's not my thing, Dad, that's all. It was fun, yeah, but I don't want to do it all the time. It was my choice, which is more than Lucy Q can say, that's for sure."

"Not in public!" She hissed at him.

"Quinn, why did you get kicked off?" Quinn looked at Burt, eyes wide, face tinged red.

"It's a long story." She was going to _kill_ Kurt later. Positively kill him. "And I wouldn't call it getting kicked off, per se, it's more like I left."

"So it was your choice to leave."

"Not exact—"

"So what happened?" Quinn didn't answer. "Who's in charge of the Cheerios, again? That Sylvester woman?" Quinn could only nod. "I might go down to the school tomorrow, have a talk with her about it. Maybe get you reinstated." Quinn dropped her head and closed her eyes. Coach Sylvester would, without a doubt, tell him about the pregnancy, and direct him to Jacob Ben Israel's blog, and then her life would be over, and he'd throw her out, and—

"I don't think that's such a good idea, Dad." Quinn looked up. "Quinn's been having trouble in French lately, and she's been really tired. Maybe a semester away from the Cheerios will do her some good." Any plans to kill her brother in his sleep evaporated.

"Why didn't you say so, kiddo? I could've talked to some teachers about it. How come they haven't been talking to me, anyway?"

"Because Kurt's in my French class, and he's got some of the highest grades, and Madame, Kurt, and I worked out a tutoring agreement, since we live together," Quinn lied quickly. Burt seemed to believe her.

Quinn and Kurt went to bed that night feeling even more guilty about lying to him than they had about keeping the secrets in the first place. They needed to tell him. They both came to this conclusion separately, but when they woke up in the morning, they couldn't bring themselves to tell the other.

* * *

><p>The following weekend, Burt woke up before his children, like he did every Saturday, and got ready to head into the shop to finish up a few repairs that he hadn't gotten through the previous afternoon. He stopped by Quinn's room to check on her, but found her door slightly open and her bed empty. He frowned and pushed the door open.<p>

Her bathroom door was closed, and normally he'd just go downstairs and leave a note saying where he went, but it sounded an awful lot like she was throwing up.

"Quinn?" He called, knocking on the door. "Are you okay, sweetheart?" He jiggled the doorknob, but it was locked. "Can I come in?" After a few seconds of complete silence, the door unlocked and he found himself face-to-face with Kurt, still in pajamas, hair a mess.

"Hey, Dad," he said, obviously trying to stall him. Burt pushed the door open all the way and found his daughter sitting on the floor next to the toilet in a tank top and pajama pants. Her hair was tied back loosely and messily, like someone else had done it—which, he realized, was probably true; Kurt had probably done it for her—and she looked close to tears. She looked up at him, and then at Kurt. Behind him, Kurt nodded, exhaling through his nostrils; a silent, "I give up. We need to tell him."

"Daddy, I'm so sorry," she said, starting to cry. Burt bent down and scooped her up, trying to calm her down, instantly reminded of when she was new to the family, not even really part of it yet, and she slipped up and called him "Daddy" instead of "Mr. Burt."

"Shh, it's okay, Quinn, you're sick, it happens, even if you think you're not human," he teased her lightly. She had always worked herself harder than she should. Both his children did, now that he thought about it.

"Dad, we haven't been honest with you," Kurt said, following them out of the bathroom and into Quinn's room. Burt placed her on her bed and faced his son.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean we haven't told you everything." Kurt sat down on the bed next to Quinn and took her hand. She squeezed it. "But you have to understand that we're both scared out of our minds."

"What's wrong?" Kurt broke eye contact with his father and looked at his sister.

"Do you want to tell yours first or—"

"You go first," Quinn said, trying to pull herself together. Kurt took a deep breath and looked back at his father.

"Dad, you love me, right?"

"What kind of a question is that?"

"Just answer it, please?"

"Yes, of course I love you. Why?"

"I've been lying—to you, to just about everyone about myself and I really don't want to do it anymore. What I am is—Dad, I'm gay." The room fell silent for a moment.

"I know. I've known since you were three." Kurt looked astounded. "All you wanted for your birthday was a pair of sensible heels."

"Told you it was obvious," Quinn muttered to him.

"And—you don't care?"

"I guess I'm not totally in _love_ with the idea, but if that's who you are, there's nothing I can do about it. And I love you just as much, okay?" Quinn kept her eyes glued to her sheets, biting her lip to keep from sobbing. "Quinn? Honey, what's wrong?"

"Daddy, I'm so sorry!" She dropped Kurt's hand and launched herself at him, throwing her arms around his neck. He caught her, shocked.

"Quinny, what's wrong? It's okay, just tell me."

"I did something—you're gonna hate me!"

"Quinn, to be fair, he doesn't hate me, so he definitely won't hate you," Kurt said. Burt frowned slightly and detached Quinn from him.

"What do you mean, Kurt?"

"Just tell him, Quinn." She faced Kurt. "Go on." She sobbed and shook her head. Kurt sighed and looked at Burt.

"Dad, she's pregnant." The room fell silent, except for the soft sniffling coming from Quinn as she tried not to sob. Burt stared between his children. He pried Quinn away completely so he could look at her properly.

"Coach Sylvester found out and kicked her off the team," Kurt said softly as Quinn scrunched her eyes closed. "The whole school knows because of her."

"How…how far along?" Quinn's eyes flew open, her expression shocked. "Quinny, how far along are you?"

"A-about four months," she stammered, looking from her father to Kurt. "I-I know it's a girl." Burt leaned back and closed his eyes. His hands came up to his face, and he rubbed at his eyes.

"So, just so I'm clear, let's go over this for a sec, okay?" He pointed at Kurt. "You're gay. And you're sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure," Kurt said immediately. Burt looked at Quinn.

"And you're pregnant."

"Y-yes."

"And no one was gonna clue me in sooner?" The two looked at each other guiltily. "How long have you known about the other?"

"He told me three weeks ago," Quinn said, wiping her face with the back of her hand.

"She told me the week before that," Kurt admitted quietly. Burt let out a low whistle.

"Kids, I'm not mad about what you told me. I don't care that you're gay, and—Quinn, we're gonna talk about this with Finn later, but—I don't care that you're pregnant. It's nothing I'm gonna throw you out over. What I am gonna do, however, is take the day off from work and we're gonna have a long talk about—this." He motioned to Quinn. "I take it you have the bills from the doctor?" She stared at him. "Quinn, you forget that I've lived with a pregnant woman before. I know what happens, and I know what kind of money the doctor's appointments are. Show me." Quinn got up and dug through a drawer in her dresser before producing a stack of envelopes addressed to her. She handed them over wordlessly.

"Dad—there's something else," Quinn said. He looked at her. "The baby—I made a mistake—"

"Quinn, we've established that."

"No, let me finish." She took a deep breath. "The—the baby isn't—it's Puck's."

"Puck?" Burt looked at Kurt. "The Puckerman kid? With the Mohawk? The one with the pool-cleaning business?" Kurt nodded, lips pressed together. "I thought you were dating that Finn Hudson kid." Quinn's eyes welled up. "Oh, Lucy, what did you do?" At the mention of her first name, she burst into tears again, sobbing into her father's shirt.

Burt stayed home that day, like he'd said. He, Kurt, and Quinn sat down at the kitchen table with the bills she'd been hiding, all opened up in front of them in neat piles. It was one of those moments when Kurt and Quinn wished for their mother and Burt wished for his wife. Lizzie would've mothered the hell out of both of them when they came clean. Of course, had Lizzie still been alive, they probably would have done so a lot sooner than they had.

"Quinn, you have to tell Finn he's not the father," Burt said firmly once the bills had been sorted.

"I can't."

"Lucy, I mean it. He can't go through life thinking he's got a baby. What if he never goes to college because of it? What if he drops out of high school?"

"He won't because I'm not keeping it," Quinn said, a glimmer of her former HBIC attitude shining through just for a second. "I'm giving it to the Schuesters."

"The glee teacher?" Quinn nodded.

"He doesn't know, exactly, but I've worked it out with his wife." Burt raised an eyebrow.

"And how is that working exactly?"

"Mrs. Schuester is supposed to be pregnant, only she's not. Mr. Schue doesn't know, and she can't tell him. She found out I was pregnant, and she has it all figured out. I'm going to give her my baby when it's born."

"How is that going to work, exactly? Labor's a pretty hard thing to fake." Kurt watched the two silently. It was kind of like watching a tennis match.

"I don't know, it's all up to her."

"Quinn, honey, I want you to think long and hard about what you're doing. What's going to happen when Mr. Schuester finds out? When Finn finds out?"

"Finn knows and there's nothing he can do about it." She looked at her father. "Daddy, I don't have another choice."

"Quinn, you've been lying for too long. You need to start telling the truth."


	2. Chapter 2

**So I haven't updated this in like two weeks... Here's the second chapter! **

**There's probably an epilogue coming soon, set in the summer, after Quinn has the baby. **

**Reviews are nice! Thank you to everyone who liked/alerted/etc. this story!**

**xo Bloomfield.**

* * *

><p>Sectionals was fast approaching and Quinn still hadn't told Finn the truth, despite a thousand arguments with Burt over it. Kurt was getting better about keeping the peace, and even better at hearing out both sides, although he mostly heard from Quinn. Burt's argument never changed, but every so often Quinn would pass someone in the hallway wearing a Cheerios uniform and remember something about it, or she'd try to wear a dress that would've fit her in September that didn't fit right with her baby bump, and they'd be back to square one with her in tears.<p>

Of course, he forgot to take into account Rachel Berry.

The conversation they'd had before their rehearsal time before lunch had, without a doubt, freaked him out. He hadn't been the one to tell the rest of the glee club about Puck and Quinn: when Mercedes confronted him about it, he had no choice but to tell her the truth. He didn't tell Quinn that the rest of the glee club knew because he knew she'd kill them all if it meant that Finn never found out. They all knew not to tell Rachel because she'd be the first person to tell Finn.

So when she started taking notice of Puck's obvious more-than-concern for Quinn, she was the first to question it. He figured that he could get Quinn to tell before Rachel figured it out. She was getting closer and closer to cracking every day. He knew she'd never admit it, but she was. She was beyond stressed, and Rachel's genetic disorder test thing had freaked her out.

The day that Quinn's world fell apart came on what seemed like just another ordinary day. She went to school, went through her classes, gave people a bitch glare when they stared or whispered; what she did every day, really. She went to Glee rehearsal, wondering what Rachel would have in mind for the set list because she never shut up, really.

Kurt was already there, talking to Mercedes about her upcoming solo. Quinn was sitting next to Kurt, sort-of listening to the conversation but mostly concerned about the DNA tests she'd have to run this weekend with Puck. He was sitting a few chairs down from her, and she was pretending that she didn't know he was watching her. She barely heard the door open and shut, until there was a shout of, "You _asshole_!" and then Finn launched himself at Puck, getting at least three punches in before tackling him to the ground, Puck completely taken by surprise and not able to fight back.

The entire glee club formed a half-circle around them as they fought, Kurt's hand clasped over his mouth. Quinn watched, arms crossed over herself, trying not to cry. He knew. He knew and he was _pissed_, just like she knew he'd be.

Mr. Schue finally decided to show up at that exact moment. He pulled the two apart from each other, and Mark and Mike had to restrain Finn from going at Puck again.

Quinn barely knew what she was doing as she walked up to Finn, tears pouring down her face. She barely got out the words, "I'm so sorry," before Finn was storming out, kicking a chair over as he left.

Kurt got himself and Quinn excused from rehearsal that day. After she told Puck that she wanted to be alone for a while, Quinn and Kurt went home. Burt was still at the garage, so Quinn was safe to cry her eyes out in the kitchen while Kurt held her.

"Quinny, your contacts are going to get ruined. You should take them out," he murmured after what seemed like ages. She half-dragged him up the stairs with her to her room and made him wait in her bedroom as she took her contacts out in her bathroom. She almost considered putting on glasses, but she wasn't sure that she was entirely done crying yet. She sat on the bed next to Kurt, her head on his shoulder.

"He hates me," she whispered. "Everyone probably does now. We're short one member."

"No one hates you, Quinn," Kurt told her. "They'll figure something out. I wouldn't worry too much about it. Besides," he cleared his throat awkwardly, "almost all of them knew already." She bolted upright, eyes wide.

"What?"

"Everyone except Finn and Rachel knew the baby was Puck's. Mercedes asked me about it a couple of months ago. We didn't tell Rachel."

"They…they knew?"

"Yeah. All of them. Tina, Artie, Santana, everyone. Don't you think they would've said something if they hated you?" She looked down.

"They're all so nice," she whispered. "Even though I'm a bitch to them, they're always nice to me."

"They know that you're going through a hard time. And they don't judge. Do you really think I'd still be in glee if they were judgmental Neanderthals like the rest of McKinley?"

* * *

><p>Burt Hummel arrived to his house a little later than usual. He'd been up to his elbows in oil, grease, and car parts for the better half of the afternoon, only to have to deal with not one, not two, but three bitchy customers and his nerves were shot. He walked in through the kitchen door to find a plate with plastic wrap covering its contents waiting for him at his seat, still a little bit warm. The kitchen was <em>spotless<em>. Kurt and Quinn usually did a good job of cleaning up, but this was beyond that. It was _Lizzie clean._

"Kids?" he called into the house, taking off his standard baseball cap and walking into the house. He found Kurt sitting on the couch in the dark, the TV turned on, volume turned low, with Quinn asleep, her head in his lap. "Kurt?" He jolted, and looked up at Burt.

"Hey, Dad," he whispered. "How was work?"

"What happened?" he asked, nodding at Quinn. Kurt looked down at her, and then back up at their father.

"Finn found out about the baby," Kurt said, pushing a stray lock of hair out of Quinn's face. "Rachel Berry figured everything out and told him."

"And…?"

"He beat the crap out of Noah and then stormed out of the choir room. He quit glee."

"How's Lucy holding up?" The differentiation between "Lucy" and "Quinn" became more and more apparent as she began insisting on people calling her Quinn and refusing to answer to Lucy unless her family called her that. Burt only called her Lucy when he was worried about her, or when she was potentially in trouble. Kurt called her Lucy when he wanted her to pay attention, and sometimes to tease her. The two of them only started calling her Lucy when she wasn't present after she got pregnant and they were talking about her, because Kurt always knew more of what was going on than Burt did and was more than happy to fill him in on things that he knew she wouldn't mind their father knowing.

"She cried. Rachel apologized, and then Noah offered to be the dad he thinks she needs, but she doesn't want that. Mr. Schuester let us leave early. She came home and cried for a really long time. She stopped about an hour ago. She didn't want dinner. She fell asleep about twenty minutes ago, actually," he said thoughtfully, looking down at her again. "She thought that everyone hated her. For being the reason Finn quit."

"Do they?"

"They all already knew the truth, Dad," Kurt said, looking back up at him. "Mercedes figured it out and told them. All I did was confirm it to Mercedes, and that was before she told."

"Does she know that they knew?"

"Now she does, yeah. I told her when we got home." Quinn stirred, her face contorting into a frown. She sat up, rubbing an eye.

"Kurt?"

"Hey, sleepy," he said, smiling a little bit. Burt tapped her on her shoulder. She jumped and turned around.

"Hi, Daddy," she said softly. Burt smiled at her. "Um…Finn knows."

"I know, Kurt told me," he said gently. She looked at Kurt. "You should eat something, sweetheart. It's not good for the baby." Her face was an expression Burt couldn't place: displeasure? Resentment? Sadness?

"I told her that already," Kurt said. "She didn't want to."

"Quinny, you have to eat something."

"I'm not hungry."

"Just a piece of fruit or something, Quinn. I'm not asking for a four-course meal." She scowled at him, but got off the couch and disappeared into the kitchen anyway.

"Whoever she ends up marrying is gonna have to have a really high bullshit tolerance," Burt muttered, sitting down next to Kurt where Quinn had vacated. "Or a really low one."

"I can hear you!" Quinn called from the depths of the pantry.

"It doesn't mean it's not true!" he called back. Quinn reappeared with a bag of pita chips, crunching on one of them already.

"I'm eating something, see?" Kurt rolled his eyes.

"Quinn, I would think he meant something with nutritional value. Like, say, fruit."

"These taste better," she told him. "I'm going to bed." She turned on her heel and went upstairs. Burt and Kurt looked at each other.

"She reminds me of Lizzie," Burt muttered, getting off the couch and heading towards the stairs. "Go to sleep, kiddo."

"Goodnight, Dad."

* * *

><p>Sectionals was a blur. Quinn barely remembered what happened. Finn had returned and Rachel had gotten the solo instead of Mercedes because she was better at last-minute performances than her and they'd actually <em>won<em> even though their original set list had been stolen by the other show choirs—and seriously, how did _that_ happen?—and now apparently Mr. Schuester knew about Mrs. Schuester's fake pregnancy and they were breaking up or something.

So, in short, it had been a hellish week. And Quinn was done with everything.

That weekend, instead of waking up when Burt left for the garage, she slept in. She woke up around noon, and came downstairs in her pajamas to find Kurt sitting at the table, flipping idly through the newspaper, an unread copy of _Vogue_ lying next to him. He glanced up at her as he walked in.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," he said as she half-stumbled to the table and sat down in the chair next to him, the chair that Lizzie used to sit in that was always left empty at dinner, but occupied by various members of the household at other times of the day.

"I thought you were going to the garage with Dad today," she said, her voice still thick with sleep.

"Decided to wait for you. You seemed like you needed something fun to do after Sectionals this weekend," he said, turning the page and frowning at a headline.

"Like?"

"Well, we could go shopping, we could go to the movies, we could do anything you wanted," he told her, folding up the newspaper and pushing it towards the magazine, propping his head up on an elbow and looking at her. "So, what'll it be, Lucy Q?"

"The only good thing I've seen come out of that baby bump is the dramatic increase in dresses in your wardrobe," Kurt said as they walked out of the fifth store they'd hit up at the mall. Both of them were laden down with huge bags from various clothing stores, each filled with dresses that were flouncy enough that she could wear them with the baby bump but fit enough that she could wear them after she had the baby, if they still fit and she still liked them.

"You just hated the Cheerios uniform," she countered as she started walking towards the food court, giving him no choice but to follow her.

"I didn't like the way the hockey team stared at your butt in the halls. Sue me, I'm a brother."

"Well, better they were staring at me than slushying you." He frowned at her. "Kurt, you used to come home looking like a rainbow threw up on you, and not in a Mercedes way. At least whenever I walked by they seemed momentarily distracted." Kurt rolled his eyes as they got into the Haagen-Dazs line. "What has the most chocolate?" she wondered out loud, looking at the menu printed on huge signs above the cashiers' heads.

"Someone has a craving."

"Shut up. I'm pregnant."

"Bacon last week, chocolate this one, what's next?"

"Go away."

"Quinny, I have the money." She rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, just keep rubbing that in my face, why don't you."

"Just work a few shifts at the garage with me. You know the basics; I'm sure Dad could use someone to change a few tires and oil and stuff."

"No tires. Not allowed to do anything with lifting."

"Just oil, then. You could help me, too. I need someone to hand me wrenches." She scowled at him, but he just shot her a winning smile. "Or you could run the desk. You're good at answering the phone."

"I hate you sometimes, you know that?" By this point, they'd reached the front of the line. Quinn ordered her chocolate supreme sundae thing and Kurt ordered vanilla with fudge sauce. They took a seat at a table near a giant potted plant and Quinn propped her feet up on the chair next to Kurt.

"So I know that we haven't really talked since before Sectionals," Kurt started, almost cautiously, "and I know that you've been avoiding everything, but I really wanna talk about what happened." Quinn looked down at her ice cream. "Quinny, I don't want to have you go through an emotional meltdown because you won't talk about anything. We don't have to talk about it here, but you really should talk about it. With me, or Dad, or Mercedes, or anyone, it doesn't matter."

"I hate it when you're right about stuff," she murmured, and looked back up at him. "I hate that I lied to him. I hate that I couldn't man up to my mistakes and tell him from the start. I hate that I led him on and I hate that I led Mr. Schue on, too, because of what Mrs. Schuester told me. Sometimes I wake up and I just hate _her_, too, but I can't _really_, because she's half me, you know?" she asked, motioning to her baby bump. Kurt nodded. He sort of understood, he did, but he'd never truly understand and Quinn knew that. He'd _never_ have to worry about an accidental and/or inconvenient pregnancy, and for that reason she was almost jealous of him.

"He definitely doesn't hate you," Kurt said. Quinn looked at him. "Mr. Schue, I mean. If anything, he really hates his wife right now."

"But you know what's weird?" Quinn said suddenly, leaning in a little bit. "If you had asked me five weeks after I found out if I regretted it, I would've said yes without missing a beat. I would've told you I'd go back and do it again. And in a way, I still do think I would. I wouldn't have cheated on Finn with Puck. But now, I kind of don't want to because look where we are now. I have honest to God friends and I haven't had those in a really long time, since before—well, you know." Kurt nodded. _Since before I became Quinn_. "And lately, it seems like despite the baby, things are getting better."


End file.
